Down a Notch
by elemina797
Summary: Sherlock's not used to this particular *physical need,* so he's very uncomfortable when it 'comes up' and won't go away. John figures he'd help him out, but not without teasing him first. Mild humiliation of Sherlock, dominant/mildly aggressive John. Really nothing romantic about it but I might add some later if anyone cares :) ?


It was almost nearing time for dinner, and John was beginning to get hungry, so he was reading his book in order to pass the time before his date tonight. Sherlock, on the other side of the room and perpendicular to John, wasn't quite hungry for food, exactly.

He gave a shuddering sigh, and John looked up from his book to see that he was looking quite tense.

"You alright?" He asked. Sherlock inhaled deeply and breathed another brief sigh before responding.

"Yes, just..." He said, pausing and shifting in his chair, "very... uncomfortable."

"Mm," John half-nodded. "What is it, stomachache?"

Sherlock looked up at him, over his left shoulder. "What? No, no. Um..." He looked down at himself for a moment and cleared his throat. "Uh, John, you may have noticed that there's a certain physical human need which I don't go out of my way to fulfill... actually I go out of my way to avoid fulfilling it because I consider the activity a practically useless application of the energy and mind power I would prefer to use elsewhere. Not to mention its tendency to complicate and distract from more important endeavors..."

John had raised his eyebrows. Now he swallowed uncomfortably and narrowed his eyes, putting his book down on the couch cushion beside him. Sherlock continued.

"...however, while I try to keep that particular need at bay, I don't have a lot of experience with it, so dealing with it when it does show up is especially..." he winced at the last word, "...h-hard."

John snorted and then immediately covered his mouth, sobering. He nodded seriously. "Sorry," he said. He clasped his hands together and opened his mouth to speak, only to close it speechlessly. After a moment he spoke. "Sherlock are- are you trying to tell me... that you're feeling horny?" He blinked a few times and pursed his lips.

"Um," Sherlock said, not looking at him. His voice came out hoarsely and his face was growing hot. He coughed. "I... don't know what to do; it's distracting me. ...Annoying."

John tried not to laugh. "Not sure what you want me to do about this, mate," he said, rubbing his temple with an outstretched middle finger. Sherlock hmmed.

"Not sure what I'd want you to do either," he mumbled. "Or anyone else, for that matter."

John couldn't help himself - he laughed, his ears turning pink. "R-really. I find _that_ difficult to believe. Are you really that repressed?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow and looked at him shiftily. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," John said. "Surely there's something you want. Even hypothetically?" Sherlock looked down and closed his eyes for a second, shaking his head quickly. John studied him, adding, "What it is that you're currently trying not to think about?"

As he said this, he felt a startling rush. He was... _really_ interested. He shook away the thought - he was just wondering because Sherlock was so contained about these things. It wasn't anything like _that_. But he held his breath waiting for Sherlock's answer. Sherlock had opened his mouth and his lips quivered intermittently, flirting with speech, but he said nothing.

"The Woman?" John said. Sherlock suddenly clenched his jaw and flickered his eyes closed, but still said nothing. John grinned. "The Woman...? Perhaps holding you down?"

Sherlock grunted. "Stop," he said through gritted teeth.

John chuckled. "Too arousing, eh?"

Sherlock felt a confusing flurry of things as he balled his fists. The anger and powerlessness seemed to mesh perfectly with the aching arousal. Was he mistaken...? Did this make any sense? He couldn't think straight.

Suddenly he got up. Immediately he realized the consequences of this when John bit his tongue and chuckled restrainedly, glancing at the solid bulge in Sherlock's trousers. John was tickled, although he was internally trying to convince himself that he was enjoying Sherlock's embarrassment in a purely nonsexual way.

"Stop laughing," Sherlock muttered.

John raised his eyebrows and rubbed his lips absentmindedly. "Why, is it turning you on, being laughed at? Seems consistent." ...what was he saying? John wasn't normally the type of person to enjoy other people's humiliation or discomfort. And Sherlock was his friend, after all. But the situation was somehow thrilling, and before any further analysis-

He found himself appreciating Sherlock's aesthetic qualities before the man sat down petulantly. Skinny, and angular, and brooding, as always. Oh fuck him. Well not _fuck_ him, but curse the bastard for putting him in this position.

Yeah, that's what it was, it was anger. That's why his heart was racing, that's what was starting to arise to mirror Sherlock's mid-region. Damn him. Repressed dickhead. Well, there was no denying it now. There was only the question of whether he would act on it. Although if he did, there would be no question as to how.

John got up from the couch, seeing where his legs would take him. He was drawn to Sherlock's chair and stopped in front of it, looking down at him. He liked it this way, being able to look down at Sherlock instead of always up due to their height disparity.

Sherlock's eyes were closed and his hands gripped each arm of the chair, using all of his will not to touch himself or allow his thoughts to linger on any specific fantasy. But suddenly his eyes opened and there was no distracting himself from the living fantasy in front of him. John was moving forward, moving his knee between Sherlock's thighs so he was kneeling one-sidedly on the chair.

John felt himself become harder as he imposed himself into the personal space of the man below him, who was usually the one in control. Sherlock, in turn, felt excitingly violated. He opened his mouth to ask his friend what exactly he thought he was doing, but something stopped him short of speaking. He looked up at the man whom he usually told what to do, rising up to power.

"Alright," John said quietly, "touch me."

Sherlock's face crinkled frustratedly. Wasn't his own case a bit more urgent? He sighed sharply, hesitant to protest. "...me first," he said rather meekly, feeling desperate.

John gave an unamused chuckle. "Yeah, I don't think so," he said decidedly. "That's not how this is gonna work, Sherlock."

He suddenly grabbed the back of Sherlock's hair and pinned his head back. The light pain made Sherlock gasp through tight lips. John nodded as his blood rushed, making a mental note that the hair-grabbing was a successful venture.

"Now," John said with mock-gentleness, "touch me."

Sherlock's brow furrowed indignantly. John noticed, and the corner of his mouth twitched as he looked down his nose expectantly. Slowly Sherlock pried his hand away from the arm of the chair and onto the fabric over John's erection, slowly applying pressure as John tightened his grip at the back of Sherlock's head.

Sherlock stroked him tentatively and John grunted as the sensation surged through him and he became even harder. He glanced downward and pressed his hips forward. Sherlock's breath caught as he noticed this momentary display of dominance.

He then found himself doing to John exactly what he craved to feel on himself, swirling his thumb around the tip at the end of each stroke, until the urge to be touched was so overwhelming that he could not handle it.

His other hand shot suddenly in the direction of his own crotch, desperate to ease the feeling, but John was faster than him, as his own other hand caught Sherlock's wrist, pinning it to the back of the chair. He then went ahead and grabbed Sherlock's remaining wrist with his previously hair-gripping hand. Sherlock, now restrained, breathed heavily through his teeth.

"Aw, are you that weak-willed, Sherlock, really?" John said, sounding disappointed.

Sherlock shut his eyes tight and let out an uncontained groan. "John," he whimpered. There was sweat shining at his temples and his neck was pink as its muscles pulsed visibly with his breath.

John inched his knee forward, gently applying pressure to Sherlock's balls. Sherlock's mouth opened involuntarily, his breath rasping quietly. John began to think maybe it was time to just go down on him, end his misery. After all, he did wonder what that would be like.

He leaned forward and licked Sherlock's open lips, felt his warm desperate breath. He let his tongue enter, twirling forcefully around Sherlock's, which mimicked submissively. John inched his knee off to one side, putting pressure remarkably close to where Sherlock wanted it. Sherlock stopped kissing altogether and was breathing so heavily that it was almost alarming. Too easy.

"Okay," John said. "Here's how this is going to happen. I'm going to blow you..." Sherlock shuddered from anticipation, and John quieted him by leaning down so he spoke softly into his ear. "...but you can't interfere," he continued. "If I stop for a moment and you try to touch yourself or touch me, if you do anything at all, I'm not gonna let you finish. How does that sound, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up at him pleadingly. "Ugh, yes," he gasped. "Please."

_I've got him begging,_ John thought in disbelief as he released Sherlock's hands and sank to the floor, kneeling in front of him. He undid Sherlock's button, feeling thrilled by the warmth radiating from his flatmate's body. He unzipped the trousers to reveal more than just the elastic band of the dark grey boxer briefs.

"Up a bit," John ordered, and Sherlock lifted his hips from the chair as John pulled Sherlock's garments halfway down his thighs. Sherlock's impressive rigidity was revealed, springing upward as he let his hips drop back down to the cushion. His fingernails dug into the arms of the chair.

John licked his bottom lip. There it was. He enjoyed gazing at it even more because despite its attractive size, Sherlock was not proud of it. He was ashamed of his own arousal which he usually repressed so effectively, and now he was exposed and vulnerable, and hopelessly turned on. John enjoyed keeping him that way. He also noted the detective's impressive hygiene, trimmed and smooth despite rare exposure to other people.

This would be easy, even in light of the absence of men in John's sexual history. Something about having all of this control and power... it gave him a raging confidence like life or death. Driven, he didn't have time to doubt himself.

He stuck his tongue out wide and flat and drew it up slowly from Sherlock's base. Sherlock moaned hoarsely through gritted teeth, a taste of relief so sweet it was almost painful spreading over one limb and sending waves down the other four. And then John simply froze an inch away, looking up at Sherlock's face and teasing him with his hot breath.

Sherlock was panting and straining to keep still, a compulsion the size of the universe versus the possibility for the pleasure of a lifetime. John just wanted to hear that pained groan again before he allowed him a moan of pleasure.

Sherlock looked down at him and John gave a small smile. As if complying with John's unspoken requirement, Sherlock then let his head fall back and groaned shudderingly, one of his fingernails accidentally puncturing the leather of the chair.

John was satisfied. He plunged his mouth over Sherlock's cock, not receding until the head hit the back of his throat. As expected, Sherlock moaned euphorically with abandon. The discomfort surrounding the pleasure had only served to magnify it when it arose - to the point of collapse, as if all the blood in Sherlock's body had been redirected to where it met John's mouth. Luckily, he'd not been standing up.

John moved up and down with tight lips and soft cheeks, his tongue making circles over every square inch of Sherlock's member. Sherlock's abs and glutes tightened periodically, sending a twitch throughout his body.

After only a few minutes of John picking up pace, Sherlock's strangled moans indicated that he was going to cum. John made a snap decision and as soon as he tasted it and heard Sherlock's hoarse conclusive groan, he drew his mouth away and used only his hand to stroke him through the remainder. He'd have no problem with having a sticky hand if it meant the sight of Sherlock in his chair with his own orgasmic mess all over his clothes.

John wiped his mouth on his forearm. Then looked around him and down at his own clothes for a place to wipe his hand, only to shrug and wipe it thoroughly on the leg of Sherlock's trousers. They'd need a wash now anyway. He stood up, stepped back, and looked at his flatmate.

Sherlock was breathing deeply, feeling absolutely deflated and heavy from head to toe. His attention returned when he heard John clear his throat, and then he suddenly looked down at himself with embarrassment. He shuffled to pull up his underwear, which was difficult while trying to avoid the sticky liquid that was just about everywhere. John smiled, shaking his head almost endearingly.

Sherlock simply furrowed his brow, unsure of how to proceed. "Er... Shall I..." he motioned awkwardly toward John's crotch- "do you now?"

John had already decided if he'd let Sherlock return the favor. In fact, he'd made the decision the second he put Sherlock in his mouth: He couldn't let the score be even. John would be the one to do the "doing" at all times. If Sherlock were to perform the same act on him, it would have to be a new scenario, not at all equivalent to this one. John would be standing up, in control, hand on the back of Sherlock's head. And it wouldn't be "returning the favor." Only on John's terms, always, from this point on.

Besides, he wasn't in need of this particular outlet at the moment - he was to have a date tonight.

Before John walked off to get ready, he wanted to savor this. He stepped right back up to Sherlock's chair and bent down so they were eye to eye. "Listen mate," he said, and Sherlock swallowed. "We're done here for the time being. And I'm going out in a bit. When I get back, you can boss me around and condescend to me again." Sherlock's brow twitched, and John slowly raised his hand to Sherlock's face, touching his cheek softly. "But any time we get physical with one another, you submit to me, understand? You can fight for dominance if you insist, but you're not gonna win out. And this is how it's gonna be, Sherlock. Is that clear?"

A little flustered, Sherlock gave a quiet cough. "Ah-yes," he muttered softly, nodding profusely.

"Good," John said with a smile and a quick gentle smack to Sherlock's pale cheek.

With that, he walked off. Sherlock raised a hand to the mild stinging where John's hand had been a moment before. He was savoring this as much as John was. There was just something about being knocked off his high horse - above all, a relief, and in fact less of a distraction than the usual repression. A rush bloomed in his chest at the thought of their next encounter of that sort. Yes, this was to be a very nice setup indeed.


End file.
